To Let a Heart Burn
by Impala Baby
Summary: It's been six months since the static image of Moriarty was broadcast onto every screen in Great Britain and he hasn't been seen since then. Until one night when he pays a certain pathologist a visit. Rated M for violence, smut, and some mild swearing. NB: Molliarty.


"Did you miss me?" a voice murmured in a pitchy Irish accent from the shadowed corner of Bart's Hospital morgue.

Adrenaline pumped through Molly's blood at a speed that left her feeling as though ice had been spiked into her heart. Her elbows jutted out from fright, sending an array of metallic tools clattering to the floor.

"It's been awhile since we were last in here, hasn't it Molly?" Jim asked, strolling out towards Molly's workstation. His hands were hidden away in the pockets of his navy blue suit and he had his most flattering smile on; the one he reserved mainly for his richest and most notorious customers.

Molly turned to look at him, her mouth quite literally dropping in shock. He looked so flawlessly casual, as though hiding in a morgue at night was nothing out of the ordinary. She didn't even want to know how he had gotten in here; it would only remind her of how vulnerable she was. She knew if Jim, or anyone else for that matter, wanted to kill her for her involvement it wouldn't exactly be a hard feat.

He took an almost hesitant step towards her but the second he did she jumped to her feet, grabbing the nearest thing to her in a desperate attempt to defend herself. She reeled away from him, almost falling over her own feet as she stumbled backwards. She was unable to take her eyes off the smartly dressed man and without the ability to see where she was going hit into the back wall sooner than she had expected to. She held up her hands in an attempt to ward him off and noticed that her scramble for some form of protection had left her clutching a glass slide in her hand.

"Ooh careful. Wouldn't want you to cut yourself," Jim teased, his voice intentionally mocking but still somehow gentle and irresistibly smooth.

Molly knew well how fast that voice could change, but she was grateful to hear it regardless. She hadn't expected to ever hear it again.

"Don't bother fighting me, Molly," he continued, slipping into a patronizing tone as he drew a gun from his pocket. He spun it almost lazily in his hands as he grinned at her, practically daring her to say something. He didn't make any further move towards her though, not really wanting to scare her. That wasn't why he was here tonight.

"C-careful," she stuttered, forcing herself to say something. "Wouldn't want you to_ shoot_ yourself," she said, twisting his words in a way that was rather ironic. But she didn't pull it off very well through her broken voice.

He slipped the gun back into his pocket, a stunned expression clouding his face for a brief moment. His features quickly twisted into a smug smile and he shook his head at her.

"That _was _an interesting little stunt, wasn't it?" Jim said slowly, knowing he didn't need to specify to Molly what he was referring too. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Molly gulped down a nervous lump in her throat. She had thought about the day she would see Jim again for years but had given up hope that it would ever come. She had been plagued by uncertainly for over two years and, even after the public declaration of his survival, had still doubted whether_ she_ would ever see him again with her own eyes. She checked him over from her position against the wall; looking for any differences since the last time she had seen him. He didn't seem to have changed a bit, but she could see in his eyes that he had. There was still the devilish glint to them that she had grown to know well, the same flighty flickering of his pupils that made him exceptionally unpredictable. But there was also a deadness to them, something that she had never seen before.

"You didn't call. You were_ supposed_ to call," she muttered, her fists clenching by her sides. She was painfully aware of the glass digging into her right palm but was too angry to care. "For all I knew you did die on that roof."

It was irrational to be mad at Jim – she should be happy that he was alive – but after all the pain she had gone through she couldn't simply be relieved to see him again. She was starting to understand why John had been violent towards Sherlock when had had returned to him unexpectedly. But at least she'd had some warning before tonight; the whole world had.

It was the fact that he had made her wait so long that angered her. He hadn't followed though on their plan, though that wasn't unexpected, but she had betrayed her closest friends to help him and he hadn't even _called._ She couldn't even begin to compare this to how John must of felt. Jim's uncertain death hadn't stopped her from living her life the way it had for John, but it had still played on her mind.

"That's exactly what you needed to think. You were with Sherlock, playing his little pet. I couldn't risk him finding out. You of all people had to at least _doubt _my survival," he replied quickly, his words taking on a sharp edge as he was becoming increasingly irritated with the situation. But what had he expected to happen; for her to welcome him back with open arms? It had been over two years since she had last seen him and had clearly moved on. He knew how quickly people could change if he himself was anything to go by.

"I wasn't playing anything, Sherlock's my friend. And I would never tell him, you know that," she retorted in a desperate attempt to defend herself. She may have double-handed Sherlock but not everything was a lie, she still cared about him. She tried not to let Jim's comment get to her; surely he knew she would never betray him like that.

"I know you wouldn't tell him darling, but you've never been a particularly good liar. It's a good thing Sherlock doesn't look too closely at you, he would have worked it out in a second if he had bothered to observe you in any depth," he replied quickly, his voice lacking the sting he would customarily use to accompany those words.

"I assumed you would have thought that was a good thing," she said numbly, it cut a little deep to know you meant nothing to the most important people in your life.

"Oh it is a good thing, a very good thing. But what do you think Sherlock would do if he knew?" Jim questioned, titling his head to the side as he looked at her. His voice didn't take on its usual taunting tone; he wanted a genuine answer.

"He would hate me," she stated bluntly. She knew he would without the slightest doubt in her mind. If he found out he would likely have her arrested and ensure she never saw the light of day again. He wouldn't understand her reasoning; hell, even _she_ didn't understand why she had helped to keep the most dangerous criminal mastermind alive.

"He would, wouldn't he? It's a pity really, even after that little favor you did for him," he agreed, the right side of his lip dropping to form a slanted frown.

"I would still do it," she said without a second thought. He had to know that. She didn't regret helping Sherlock; she didn't regret_ anything_ she had done that day.

"Molly, you made sure both of us got off that roof alive, but _who_ were you doing it _**for?**_" he demanded, his voice rising with each word until he was practically shouting. He couldn't stand the way she still stood by Sherlock, even after everything he had done to her. If he was lucky enough to have Molly pandering to his requests he certainly wouldn't treat her the way Sherlock did.

She couldn't stop from jumping at his tone; it was always so unexpected. She didn't want to look scared, not in front of Jim. After recovering from the fright she was left feeling baffled – why did he care about her reasoning? He knew how she felt about him and how utterly pathetic it was. Did he just want her to confess to him again so he could humiliate her further?

"For both of you… I care about you, Jim, and Sherlock's one of my dearest friends," she said, trying to sound as strong as possible in her answer, she might as well be honest with him.

"Molly," he sighed, shaking his head as he took a few steps closer to her. "You should have realized by now that Sherlock and I aren't compatible. You are going to have to make a choice," he stated, his voice returning to a harshly neutral tone.

There was no emotion to his statement and Molly was left confused at to what he meant. Was he asking her to join a side, and if so what choice did she have? He had her alone in the morgue, with no way out, and was armed with a gun that he hadn't even tried to hide. She didn't know what to say, the weight of the situation hitting her hard. Jim wanted her to make a choice and she was at a loss for what to do.

"So who do you pick, Miss Hooper?" he asked again when she didn't answer. His voice was no longer full of anger or bitterness but unnaturally meek. "But when has_ he_ ever picked you? When have you ever _mattered_ to him?"

She tried not to feel the sting of that question. It wasn't being reminded that she meant nothing to Sherlock that hurt, it was the fact that Jim had mentioned it.

"Only when he needs something," Jim answered for her, giving her a pointed look.

"You can talk. You're just like him. You only dated me to get to Sherlock, only told me the truth about your identity so I would help you…" she trailed off when she saw the hard edge come into his eyes. She knew when to shut up fast around Jim; he wasn't someone she wanted to aggravate.

"Why am I here now then?" he snapped. He didn't need reminding of all ways he had hurt her, had_ failed_ her. But how could she not understand what he was trying to say?

She stared at him blankly without a clue what to say. What did he want from her, what could_ she_ offer him? Why would he come back after almost three years to see her of all people?

"What do you want from me?" she asked, closing her eyes for a moment and sighing from exhaustion. It had been a long day and the adrenaline was wearing off. She knew she should be scared given that she was alone with an armed psychopath but she truthfully didn't believe that Jim was going to hurt her.

"Nothing," he quipped, rolling his eyes slightly at how slow she was on the uptake. It would be little bit adorable under different circumstances but he didn't have the time for this.

"I won't help you get to Sherlock, you know that," Molly said under her breath, lowering her eyes to the floor. She knew this would have something to do with Sherlock and didn't want to watch Jim lie to her again.

"This isn't about _**HIM**_," Jim all but roared, his hands fisting in his hair in frustration. "I don't care about him anymore, he's proven himself to be so _ordinary_. It was amusing while it lasted but they all become dull in the end," he continued, his voice returning to a calmer tone almost instantaneously.

"I, w-what is this about then?" she asked, her voice shaking in response to Jim's unexpected outburst. He always had her on edge and she couldn't even imagine what it must be like to be at the receiving end of his unrestrained rage. He didn't even seem overly annoyed with her and she was still trembling slightly.

A few moments later, he said, "The last two years, they've been insufferable. I couldn't stop _thinking_ about you…" His voice sounded somewhat hollow. He knew she wasn't any threat to him, he could end her life with a phone call, but he felt disconcertingly powerless under her confused stare.

"I searched for distractions, throwing myself back into my work with ruthless determination but it didn't help. I had to come back. I had to know or else I was going to go completely insane, though I've been told that I already am," he said softly, an unheard sadness seeping though his words. He knew he was putting himself at risk by opening up to her like this but he couldn't stop himself.

"Jim…" she murmured, feeling her posture slacken against the wall. She couldn't wrap her head around the idea that _Jim Moriarty_ had been thinking about her. More than that she couldn't even fathom the possibility that what she had done for him all those years ago mattered to him.

"I don't know what to say…" she said quietly. It was true, what on earth could she say in reply to that? Nothing seemed to sound right in her head and the thought of voicing any of it out loud was ridiculous.

"Don't say anything, I'm leaving. This was a mistake," he replied curtly, his hands fisting by his sides as he turned away from her. He was an idiot. Molly could never understand how he felt about her, no one could. He was a monster, and he needed to leave or he was going to destroy her. She was far too innocent and he knew she had only helped him because she was scared.

"Goodbye, Molly," he added quietly as he walked swiftly towards the door. He tried to ignore how much it hurt to walk away from her again.

"Jim, wait," she called out, her arm reaching out to him as she stepped away from the wall.

He stopped in his tracks, taking a deep breath before slowly turning around to face her. She was stood only a few steps away from him now, her hand drawing back from him to rest by her side.

"That's not what I meant," she said quickly, trying to think of a way to explain it to him. She didn't know what to think let alone what to say; she didn't even fully understand what_ he_ was saying. Her mind traitorously pushed the idea into her head that perhaps he was trying to say that he_ liked_ her, but she shoved it from her mind. This was Jim Moriarty. Someone like him would think nothing of her; she was utterly insignificant.

He looked at her in a way that suggested she had better continue if she didn't want him to walk out that door. She knew if he left now that she would never see him again. He was right; she did have a choice to make. Not between Jim and Sherlock but between what she knew was right and what she wanted.

"I thought about you too. I cried as well, for a few days actually, once Sherlock had left and you still hadn't called. It's pathetic I know, but I couldn't bear the thought that something could have gone wrong and that I could have been partly responsible for your death," she said, her voice barely audible even in the eerily silent room.

"You… cried?" he asked, and his eyebrows rose in confusion. People didn't normally cry over the deaths of homicidal criminals, especially not ones who had destroyed the lives of their closest friends.

"God yes. I had to watch John mourn over a man I knew to be alive and perfectly healthy, while keeping to myself that I was in fact mourning the man who had pushed him into it. It all became too much. I hated myself; I hated _you _for causing everyone I know so much pain. I hated the fact that no matter what you did I still cared about you," she replied firmly, her voice mimicking some of the anger Jim's had held earlier.

Jim remained quiet for an immeasurable amount of time, simply staring at Molly in a mixture of shock and confusion. She didn't know what else to say so she stood silently, not daring to move from her position by the wall incase it startled him and he left. It was as though time and place had ceased to matter and they were left with only the heavy tension of what had conspired between them. He hadn't said it but she knew what he had come here to say. She didn't know if the thought excited or terrified her but she knew what her decision was, what it had always been.

"But I don't care. I don't care that you left me behind. All I care about is that you're here now," she stated, trying to speak with conviction as she broke the somber silence. He had come back for her, not because he needed something but because he _missed_ her. It was a new feeling to her, being missed by someone. She could almost convince herself, even if only for a moment, that she counted.

Jim rocked on his heels for a moment before taking the few steps between them until he was nearly face to face with her. Without a word he reached out and took her hand in his. He closed his eyes for a second, it had been a long time since he had shown or received any form of affection.

"You know I'm not going to change Molly, so you can either accept me for the _foul _madman that I am or you can send me away now and I swear that I will never bother you again," he replied gently, he was quite close to her now and didn't want to scare her away again, if he did she might not come back.

She smiled up at him, her nose crinkling and her eyes widening as she pulled him into a warm hug.

"I know," she muttered into his shirt collar. She hated what he had done and would continue to do but couldn't bring herself to care, he was here and that was all that mattered.

"Molly?" he almost whispered in her ear as he held her to him. He didn't want to let her go, not after he had only just got her back, but he couldn't stay long. He had a client expecting him shortly and it wasn't a customer he wanted to keep waiting.

"Mmm?" she mumbled as a form of reply. She was far to busy trying to memorize the feel of his body against her own to be interested in his questions anymore.

"I have to go. But would you like to have coffee with me later?" he asked, trying not to sound too desperate. It was almost painful to ask her that again, the first time had been under such different circumstances. He had been 'Jim from IT' asking out Molly Hooper for coffee, appearing to the world a harmless gay computer technician, but now she saw him for who he really was.

"That sounds nice… when?" she probed. She didn't want to have to wait long before seeing him again. She had waited long enough.

"When do you get off?" he said as he pulled away from her, titling his head quizzically.

"Eleven," she said quickly, straightening her lab coat as he let go of her. She couldn't keep a small blush from creeping into her face; it was as though they had gone back three years and started all over, but with everything out in the open.

"I'll pick you up out front then," he replied quickly, the same pleasant smile he had been wearing when he arrived on his face.

She could almost see the changes taking place in his face as he prepared to forget about this encounter until later and focus on whatever 'business' he needed to attend to. She honestly didn't want to know what he was going out to do but hoped that he was going to be safe, and that his gunmen would shoot straight if needs be.

She nodded quickly, a small smile spreading across her face to match his. She watched as his figure turned and walked from the room, an unattainable elegance radiating off him. She had to admit there was something undeniably sexy about Jim, even if he was absolutely mad and downright terrifying most of the time.

Looking at her watch she saw it was just past nine. She mentally groaned to herself; she had been rather looking forward to doing the write up for the post-mortem she had finished this morning, but now she just wanted the next two hours over. Wandering back over to her desk she sank down onto her seat and flipped open her laptop, her mind barely registering the words she began to type.

. . .

Song that inspired this chapter: I've Tried Everything - Olly Murs.

Thanks so much for reading! Reviews make me as happy as the crown jewels make Moriarty ;) xx


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